


if it's the last thing i do

by theackles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Dean Winchester, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Loving Dean, Mark of Cain, Massage, Nightmares, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Scared Dean, Season/Series 09-10, Sleeping Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theackles/pseuds/theackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(DeanxReader) You wake up to cold sheets and find Dean trying to recover from a nightmare involving the Mark of Cain. You console him, and pull him back to bed where he belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's the last thing i do

It was another restless night in a motel room - one of the more spacious ones, the ones made for escorts, with two queen beds on opposite walls with intricate metal panels at the foot of either bed for "privacy," and a fancy glass table in the walkway, and a kitchen with a wine cooler. Outside you could hear the loud car horns from the city, and sometimes along the vacant highway, a car would drive by at just the right angle and it's headlights would light up the front wall of the room for your eye to catch.

You'd been awake for a while now. You lost track after a couple minutes because you'd doze in and out, but something just didn't feel right. The bed wasn't comfortable to begin with, but it was strangely cold, and that's when another car sped by and the wall was illuminated, giving the body sitting at the end away from the shadows that kept them secret so long. You absentmindedly felt the other side of the bed and felt it's emptiness, and then sighed silently through your mouth. On the other side of the room, Sam snored and shifted on the sheets, throwing a long arm over his face.

You don't know how long he's been down there, arms dangling between his legs, probably a beer in one hand. He wasn't dressed, and you were thankful. Sometimes he gets up so early and just leaves to try to get a new lead on the case while you and Sam slept in. You secretly knew it was because of the Mark. You'd woken up a few times too many to him tangled in the sheets, sweaty and breathing heavily from a nightmare. He always pushed you away and left before you could talk the dream out of him. You weren't sure if this time was going to be different or not, but dammit, what else was a girlfriend for if not for comfort when he needed it most? If a girlfriend would even be what you'd be called in this line of work.

You shift up to your knees and crawl to the end of the bed where you unfold your legs and cross them Indian style beside of him. You let your head drop to his shoulder and let one hand drift down his bare arm, passing the Mark swiftly before spreading your fingers wide in his palm to open it and intertwine your fingers. He lets you, but otherwise doesn't move. You're not sure how to take it, but you do.

"Another bad dream?" You keep your voice low so you don't wake Sam, though his snores are louder than your voice.

He swirls the beer bottle in his other hand and gives a small shrug before emptying it with a toss of his head, then chucks it in the garbage bin. That gives you your answer. You sigh and turn slightly towards him, snaking your other arm around his shoulders.

"You can't keep all this locked up," you plead, "Just give me something."

"You don't need that shit on your shoulders, Y/N," he insists, closing his eyes and dangling his head. Out of the corner of your eye, the clock strikes 3 AM.

"Neither do you," you retort. Before he can answer, you continue. You refuse to let him get his way this time. If there was one thing you knew about Dean Winchester, was if he could force people out and get away with it, he would, until the day he died. "What - Do you think I'm going to get scared and run, or judge you for it? Run off, or what?" You shake your head, mouth slightly ajar while he denies it.

"No, that's not--"

"Then what? Tell me." You demand, dropping your arm from his shoulder and grabbing his hand with it. "You know I'm here for you. You know damn well that if I was going to leave, I would have done it by now. I had that chance twice now -- Hell and Purgatory. And fuck, if you think I'm going to judge you on the dreams you're having, then obviously you think I haven't watched you kill monsters for almost 9 years." You continue, softly, pleading. "9 years, Dean, 9, and what?"

He squeezes your hand and speaks, low and it's almost scary. "I keep -- I keep having the same one....a room of men, laying there, all in their own pools of blood, each of them stabbed multiple times or throats slashed, and I'm always kneeling in the center of them, with a knife, and I'm confused." He finally croaks out. "In the dream...I'm confused. And it feels so real." You see him squeeze his eyes shut and you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and squeeze him gently. "I don't want to be that thing again. I don't want you, or Sam, or Cas, or anyone for that matter, to see me like that again. And I'm scared that that's what I'm becoming anyways."

"Listen to me, Dean," you demand from slightly behind him, rubbing soothing circles in his back. "We're working on the Mark. Hell, I'll hunt down Cain myself if that means we find the answers. You aren't going to be anything again, nothing but Dean. My Dean. Strong, and selfless, and amazing." You murmur the last part in his ear and kiss it, nuzzling your nose in his hair that smelled like Dean and flowery motel shampoo. "If it's the last thing I do, it'll be saving your ass, do you understand me? The same for Sam. Between me and him, you're not turning into anything."

And for a moment, it seems like he believes it.


End file.
